Journals
by slytherinrules85
Summary: Years after they died, the great-grandchildren of Remus Lupin and Hermione Granger published their journals so that the Wizarding world could see the people behind the heroes.
1. Remus

**A/N:** Well, this is the first chapter of my newest fic. I'm putting it under Sirius/Hermione because that pairing needs more fics under its belt. Enjoy, and please review!

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**Introduction:**

This may seem odd to you, the reader that I and my husband decided to publish the journals of our great-grandparents, but we feel it will help people to understand their lives. My great-grandmother, you see, was Hermione Granger. She was famous in her own right, as well as for being the best friend of Harry Potter. But she told my mother that her main accomplishment was her family, even though they went through some rough times.

My husband is the great-grandson of Remus Lupin, the werewolf who brought over several packs to Harry Potter's cause during the Second War. Remus was not entirely consumed by his werewolf identity. To his last few days he would play with his grandchildren in the sandbox and ruffle their hair with a wry grin.

But we feel that it will help the world to understand their lives and what they did, and also why they did it.

Sincerely,

Mark and Jocelyn Lupin.

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June 12, 1996

After Sirius died, I didn't really seem to want to live. It's a heady thing, you know, being the last one left. I don't count Peter on purpose (in fact, I can barely think his name without wanting to spit and retch at the same time)the moment he betrayed Lily and James he left the Marauders forever, so now I am the last Marauder, the last one standing, so to speak. I remember their faces, laughing, telling jokes, playing harmless pranks on others as we took our last train ride to Hogwarts. Lily and James were Head Boy and Head Girl. They deserved it. Sure, James was a prankster, but after fifth year he ended up reformingfor Lily, I suppose. That's one thing I envied about James and Lily. Love. Undying, unshakeable love. I remember their wedding, where, before they left for their honeymoon, James pulled me aside and told me that I would find someone, someday. It's been seventeen years, James. Where's my love?

I shouldn't dwell on the past. But sometimes it seems like the only thing I have left. Harry needs me. I don't know if he wants me to come anywhere near him. Perhaps it's too soon for both of us. I've lost my best friend, and he lost the closest thing to a father he's ever had. Sometimes I wish it was me. Me, who had fallen through the veil, and me who everyone was mourning. Werewolves aren't wanted anyway, so why should I be around? At least, besides the murder charges, Sirius wasn't an outcast of society. At the very least he would've been shunned. I know what he would've said, too: "It's fun that people think I'm still a murderer. Usually people are all crowded around me in Diagon Alley, but now I have plenty of elbow room." Me, people avoid because they're scared of lycanthropy. It's as if it hasn't struck them that it isn't airborne. I would need to bite them to give them the curse. And that's what it is, too. A curse. A Dark magic curse from hell. Occasionally I wish that someone would mistake me for a rabid wolf and shoot me, but it's stupid of me to be a depressed introverted "It's-all-my-fault" person. Harry's already like that, and we don't need two of them. I shouldn't say such things about him, of course, but sometimes my "gentle demeanor" leaves me.

The only bright spot since Sirius' death in my life has beensurprisinglyGinny. Ginny Weasley, who is eighteen years younger than I am. Ginny Weasley who was enchanted and taken prisoner by Tom Riddle in her first year. Ginny Weasley who, when I taught, never spoke to me, but smile and hurried away every time she saw me, blushing furiously. And, Ginny Weasley, who isor wasin love with Harry.

She was the one who told me to write it down. I've been moping around Grimmauld Place for far too long, and when she arrived from Hogwarts, after a short stop at the Burrow, she instantlyor almost instantlygravitated to my cause. "Everyone else is worrying about Harry, Remus," she had said. (I told her to call me Remus. I don't know why.) "You need someone to worry about _you_." And she has. Worried, I mean. Saying "bright spot" about her is funny, since she has such bright hair. It's this lovely shade of copper, really. I remember my one trip to America, five years ago, with their copper pennies. Her hair is about the shade of a new, shiny copper penny. I have one in my pocket right now. I keep it shined, just for her, though she doesn't know about it. She's calling me, now. "Remus! Mum, he _told_ me to call him that. Remus?" Her head is sticking through the gap between my door and the door jam. "There you are," she smiles, "ready for lunch? Are you writing? I told you it'd be good for you. C'mon, Mum made your favorite: lovely chicken stew."

I'll stop now. Since, after all, one can never beat a good bowl of chicken stew.

Later on June 12, 1996

The chicken stew was delicious, as usual. Molly makes fantastic stew. A bit of a problem, though, as the twins, who have just opened their joke shopWeasley's Wizarding Wheezesin Diagon Alley, which causes a few arguments between Molly and the twins. They're making quite a lot of money, though, and have offered to pay rent, repair the Burrow ("We've done most of the damage, anyway."), etc., but Molly's a bit stubborn. Arthur, on the other hand, has made an under-the table deal with them and is quite happy with it, according to Ginny.

Thank God for Ginny, who knows everything going on in the house. According to her, Ron has been trying to kiss Hermione, without success. Hermione, she tells me, is, or was, to her certain knowledge Involved with someone, but they broke up somehow and now Hermione's really upset about the whole thing.

Why gossip is keeping me interested in life, I don't know. Maybe it's just that someone is talking to me, and wants to see my expressions when they say something especially outrageous.

Bill Weasley, Ginny's oldest brother, is still "giving English lessons" to Fleur Delacour, the Triwizard tournament champion from Beauxbaton. I'm not sure I want to know how far said "English lessons" are going. Bill's entitled to his privacy, isn't he? I mean, he's how old? Twenty five, I believe. Though he's really quite intelligent, as he has the brainpower to work with goblins, of all people. I mean, I'm a werewolf, and I'm frightened of goblins. Good luck to him.

Ron, since he has been rebuffed by Hermione, has taken to writing some mysterious girl, and then moons over the letters he gets back. I remember doing that the summer after third year, with owls from Lily. Yes, I admit it, I had a crush on Lily Evans. But who wouldn't? She had been beautiful, even at the not-so-tender age of thirteen, with her big green eyes and long red hair. I tried to forget how beautiful she was when she and James started dating, for James' sake, and, now, for Harry's. The last thing either one of them wanted to hear from me was how beautiful I thought their mother and girlfriend, respectively, was. Sometimes I think I live on the past.

Ginny's just come in to talk.

Even Later on June 12, 1996

I'll record the conversation exactly as it happened. Otherwise I'll forget it.

"Remus?" Ginny said, bright head poking into my room. "Is this a good time?"

"Yes, come in," I said, closing my journal_not_ diaryas she came over to sit on the armchair across from my bed, where I was sitting, moving a pair of shorts, which I had thrown there earlier (reminder: must be more neat). "Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing. Just felt like talking, that's all." She cast an amused eye at the journal on my bedside table. "I thought you said you'd write in that when pigs turned blue and started performing Shakespeare."

"Well, I went to the market today and they were. So I started writing," I said, smiling back at her a bit.

"The truth, now," she said, folding her legs beneath her.

"I was going to explode if I didn't write something_anything_down. Get it out before it forced its way out and erupted onto someone in the Dairy section," I told her, twiddling my fingers nervously.

"What things?" she asked. "I'm not trying to pry, really I'm not, I'm just a bit curious. And Mum wants to know why you're being so odd," she added. "Her words, not mine."

I laughed. "Molly can be a bit prying when she wants to. I don't mind if you're her emissary, just glad it wasn't Ron, or Heaven help me, one of the twins."

"Lord. The twin's would've made things worse, probably," Ginny agreed, laughing.

"But, seriously, I was writing... things. Things about James and Lily, things about Sirius, and things about," I glared at nothing in particular, "_him_. Bastard."

"Go on," she prompted.

"And that's it, really. I don't think I've got it all out, yet, but it'll come." I smiled thinly. "Eventually everything comes."

I'm not entirely sure why I wanted to write this conversation down, but somehow it meant something to me. It's late now, because Ginny and I went downstairs to watch Tonks, Fred and George perform a makeshift play after we were finished talking. I should go to bed now, since I have to get up early.

July 30, 1996

I haven't written in a while, I know, but I've had work and then Harry showed up, looking a mixture of relief from being away from the Dursley's, anger at himself (still), and happiness to see Ron and Hermione (who was still resisting Ron's half-hearted advances, which are egged on by Molly, who wants Hermione to get together with one of her sons, though Ginny says it's _not_ going to happen). He's been spending a lot of time with me, surprisingly, since I thought he'd want to stay away from me because of the memories of Sirius. It seems not, however, which is puzzling me. He hasn't "adopted" me, has he? I've already got one teenager (Ginny) I _don't_ need another.

Today's his birthday, though, so I guess I should be a bit more tolerant of him. He's sixteen. I remember the day he was born. I was there. Here, let me write it down:

I had to stay at Lily and James's that week because I had been evicted from yet another building because of the lycanthropy. Not that I had bitten anyone, or made undue noise. No, it was the simple _fact_ that I was a werewolf that caused my unfair eviction. But let the past die. As a song from my youth said, "Live and let die."

I was asleep on the couch when James ran down the stairs, glasses hanging from one ear, saying frantically, "Lily's having the baby!" I suppose I remained calm because, after all my years of unrequited (and unknown) love, this child wasn't mine. It was his, and I had nothing to do with it, besides being "Uncle Remus". So, I told James to go get the Mediwitch at St. Mungo's (since Lily was to far along to be transported to the hospital) and climbed the stairs, gulping down my disappointment to find Lily lying in bed, huffing as the contractions came, and screaming occasionally. I took her hands and told her to breathe, which she did.

A few minutes later, a harried-looking Mediwitch came up the stairs after the immensely disheveled James and came over to deliver the cinch in what was to be the silencer of any romantic feelings I had for Lily. The moment the little bundle of black hair and green eyes emerged from the birth canal and let out a wail to rival those of banshees, my feelings went to the back of the closet to be buried by skeletons, old shoes and past, unknown, crushes. The Mediwitch handed me the new Potter as James cut the umbilical cord, a silly grin stretched across his face. I handed him back his son and muttered a cleaning charm over myself and the bed, not daring to look at Lily, for fear I would stare. I left the room and went to the fireplace to Floo the appropriate people. Sirius, of course, was the first, and he arrived scant minutes later with Gillian Prewett, a girl who was later to be killed by Voldemort, and, who I later discovered, was Molly Weasley's niece. Dumbledore was next, then McGonagall, along with Ian and Harriet Potter. I wrote the Evan's, and got a response from them that they'd be along as soon as they could find someone to watch Petunia, Lily's much plainer and (even I, a person who dislikes to say anything bad about anything associated with Lily Evans-Potter, admitted) boring older sister. By the time I went back upstairs, everyone was crowded around the bed, smiling and laughing with the happy parents. Lily saw me hang back and waved me forward. "Remus," she said, "meet Harry James Potter." I smiled then, and truly let go of my love. I let it go to this tiny bundle, who stare up at me and gurgled, true to form as a newborn. Gillian commented about how he was so much more robust than her aunt's twin boys were when they were born, and I now know she was commenting on Fred and George. Funny how that never struck me until now.

They christened him a few days later. Sirius was his Godfather, of course. He and James were best friends, and I didn't mind. They promised to make me Godfather of the next little one. Little did I know that that would never happen. Lily thought Harry should have a Godmother, too, just to make it a bit more rounded, but James said, no, he's got one, and nothing's going to happen to us, anyway, is it? And, if it did, nothing would happen to the Godfather, would it? Funny how both of those things were wrong, isn't it?

It's funny how all of this comes back to me on this, of all days. Of course, one year and three months later they were killed by Voldemort, personally. I suppose that that, in a morbid way, was kind of an honor. To be killed by Voldemort himself, not some nameless lackey. I, of course, am not to be killed. They try to recruit me. Bloody buggers. Last time a fellow werewolf tried to convert me, I told him to Go To Hell. My exact words, actually. He responded, "Sure, and I'll see you there." Wanker.

Oh, God, Harry's calling me. It's probably a good thing that I've been remembering everyone since I should tell him about his parents today. Humor him, you know. After all, he _is_ sixteen. It _is_ his birthday.

August 8, 1996

Today is my birthday. I am thirty four. Oh God... Where's the Firewhiskey?

August 9, 1996

I will never drink again, for under the influence of fifty-year-old Firewhiskey I become rather a different person.

So, after ingesting about a quarter of the large bottle (and, trust me, you _can_ get drunk on a quarter of a bottle) I went downstairs to find it was quite empty. I had forgotten that the Weasley's (with the permission of Dumbledore) and the Guard took Harry out for a late Birthday celebration and that Ginny had stayed behind because she'd employed the use of the Extendable Ears and listened in to a conversation the Order had had the night before. So the entire house was empty. Except for Ginny and me. Which, it turns out, was a huge mistake.

Ginny came down to see what the raucous noise was (in my drunken state, I had knocked down a few things) to find me slumped on a bench in the dining room. I forget how, exactly, she managed to get me back upstairs, but she did. My memory picks up with her sponging my forehead with a cold washcloth.

"Remus," she said, "what's the matter?"

"Dhrunk," I slurred. "Dhrank half bhottle 'f Furwiskee. Nhot half," I said, correcting myself, a perfectionist even while drunk out of my gourd. "Forf."

By this time she was staring at the three-quarters filled Firewhiskey bottle on my bedside table, innocently sitting on top of this journal. "A fourth of that bottle of Firewhiskey?" she asked faintly.

"Yup," I said proudly. (Another reminder: Never, ever, _ever_ drink _again_.)

She shook her head. "Blimey. You're going to have a hell of a hangover tomorrow morning. I should try to find some of the sobering potion Bill's got." She stood up, but I reached up and grabbed her wrist tightly.

"Nho," I said, still slurring. "Sthay. I'm fhine." I struggled to sit up and she grinned a bit and helped me.

"Really, Remus, did you _have_ to get drunk while Mum was gone?" she asked me, something coming into her eyes that I didn't recognize.

"Yup. What, dh'you objehct?" I asked.

"Yes, I do. You ruined a perfectly good opportunity. Though," she said, putting her finger on my cheek, "maybe now it's the perfect opportunity." Then it happened: The catalyst that will ultimately lead to my demise from the hands of Molly Weasley, who knows all that goes on under any roof she's under. Ginny kissed me. It was innocent enough, for a kiss, at first, and then she turned it into something that changed my perspective. From out of her innocent little mouth that I had seen many times, came her tongue, that pushed open my lips and entered to explore in a manner I hadn't in years. After a few moments, she retreated to allow me the same pleasure.

And this morning, as I look at her red hair draped on the pillow, her little hands wrapped around my arm, I think, 'Why God?' I know what you're thinking, journal, since it's what I would be thinking if I was reading this without knowing the details: I had sex. I hate to say it, but, I wish. No, I did not have sex with Ginny (again, I wish) though I'm pretty sure we came _this_ close to it. Still, what we _did_ do was far too much and I don't think it should ever happen again, though, God help me, I wish it would. Suddenly, the feeling that disappeared when Harry was born, the feeling I had for Lily, has come out of my closet, from under the other, past crushes and tiptoed by the skeletons of my family to attach itself to Ginny. And now, I think, 'Maybe it's not _so_ bad.'

If there's more kissing, I could definitely live with this. Not that I'm touch-deprived or romance deprived, mind you. (It's been fourteen years since I dated.) Shit! I hear Molly coming down the hall!

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**A/N:** Well, this is it. I do hope you enjoyed it, since I've spent quite a while on it, so please, please review!


	2. Hermione

**A/N:** This is the second chapter. Now, I will warn you, it is slightly Out Of Character (OOC) so please don't bother mentioning it in your reviews. I hope you like it!

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June 15, 1996

I am really depressed right now.

Sirius is dead.

Neville told me that just before he fell through the veil he was looking in our direction. I remember the weekend before he died. Sure, everyone thought I stayed at Hogwarts with Harry and Ron (who, by the way, has been hitting on me lately; it's quite annoying) but once, at night, I snuck out via Floo powder that I took once from Grimmauld Place, just in case, and I went back to Grimmauld to visit with him. It went... further than we ever had, and we'd both misplaced our wands.

After he died, I thought about suicide, but then I thought about something.

A small, small possibility, perhaps, but it is still one. I think, maybe, that if it happens, I'd be happy, just to have _something_, you know? But if it doesn't, maybe I'll go through with it. Kill myself, I mean, I loved him.

When I first got to Grimmauld Place I hung around with Ginny, Ron, Fred and George, but then they all got obsessed with finding out what the Order was doing, so I took refuge in the library. I found Sirius one day in the maps section, looking at a bare spot in North

Eastern England. I asked him, "What's that?"

He replied, "This is where Godric's Hollow is." He sighed then, and leaned back, pushing his shaggy black hair out of his eyes, which were bright, and sparkling gray. "Sometimes, Hermione, I think I should've died sooner. Sometimes I wish I was dead. But then I have to think about Harry, you know."

"Sirius, don't even say that!" I exclaimed. He looked over at me, his eyes searching mine. "You'll always have a friend with me," I told him. "Any time, just come and talk, I don't mind, I'll just be there for you." I was almost glaring at him for wishing himself dead. How he affected me, at only sixteen, this way, I don't think I'll ever know. But I looked into his eyes, I just and I saw that he had meant what he said, and he knew I meant what I said. I remember how much we spoke to each other for those twelve weeks. How he sometimes just knew what I was going to say.

Once he mentioned a Gillian Prewett, who was his one-time fiancée. I asked him about her, and he informed me Voldemort had killed her. He told me about her, and I wasn't jealous. I had no right to be. She was from his past, and she wasn't coming back. She was dead. It's like with Viktor, I know he had had other women. Of course, I was fifteen and he was eighteen, so there wasn't the sixteen year age gap, but Still, he had a _unibrow_. And, if there's one thing a woman cannot forgive, it is the Brow. Sirius laughed when I told him that. I remember his laugh.

It was like when you tell a sad person a very funny joke and they laugh. It's as if they haven't been happy in a long time. That's what his laugh was to me. Something happy and pure in its essentials. Even my parents liked him when he was allowed to come into the Muggle world to pick me up and take me to Grimmauld Place. He over the television set in my room, playing with the remote and in awe over the music video channel.

I promised to bring along my CD player and play some rock and roll for him. After all, when he was last in the world, it was early eighties music, and that can be called music. He slipped this diary into my knapsack before we went to Platform 9 3/4 at the end of August last year. In the front, it says,

_To Hermione, _

_Come back soon _

_With all my love, Sirius_

I think he knew about the filched Floo powder. He knew about most things, after all, it was his house.

Occasionally he could be so selfish, so demanding and unfair to that poor House-Elf, Kreacher. I'll admit, Kreacher was a blemish to the name of House-Elf, but Sirius had no right to beat on Kreacher's spirit like that!

It was almost his own fault that he went behind the veil.

I shouldn't say such things. I loved him, after all. I still love him. Every day I wish he was still alive so that we could be together.

Maybe I should end it, but I don't think he would've wanted that. I remember something he said to me, _"When loved ones go away, Hermione, it's tough. But we have to roll with the punches, you know? We shouldn't forget them, but neither should we live in the past. I will never forget Lily or James or Gillian, but they're gone and there's no way to get them back. So I'm not going to quibble about that, I'm going to live and love and eventually, go back into the public, get my life back. But even if that doesn't happen, I'll live, Hermione, knowing that after I'm gone, I'll still live on in my friends memories." _

His expression, as he said that, was one of earnest, yearning. He told me that, the weekend before. After he said that, I couldn't stay away.

He consumed me. In more ways than one, I think. More than my youth and my, as Mrs. Weasley would say, "innocence", but my mind and my soul and my heart. In a good way, of course. It's not as if he put some sort of spell on me, but they all went into him, and stayed there.

That's a rather poetic way of saying I loved him. In that moment, with that expression on his face, I truly loved him. I'm sure that if I told anyone else this, they'd be bored by the sappiness of this, but I'm fascinated by it. My schoolgirl crush on Ron, which now seems so far away, but was really only a year ago, pales in comparison.

Ron's tried to rekindle it, but I don't think that will ever happen. I don't know if I'll ever feel this way for anyone else.

And for that, I may hate him, to rob me of my heart and then to die. He told me he loved me that night. Afterwards, as he was lying on me, brushing a curl off my face, he kissed the tip of my nose and said it. "I love you." His voice was husky with it and I looked into his eyes, fearing that it wasn't true, that he had used me for this very purpose: to get me into bed.

But when my eyes locked with his, I knew that he could never have lied to me about that. They say that eyes are the windows into the soul. Well, I've looked into the soul of Sirius Black and it was full of love.

June 20, 1996

Today's the first dull day I've had in five days. Ron has stepped up his so-called "flirting" and I've seen Mrs. Weasley giving him tips on 'wooing' me. How thick can you get when you don't realize that "no" means "no!"?

Don't get me wrong, I love Ron, but like a brother, not a lover. I've only had one of those, and I don't want another, though I might someday.

I've been talking to Ginny lately, and confessed what went on with Sirius. She promised not to tell, and I believe her. It's nice to share a room with someone who's interesting and doesn't talk of hair-straightening spells or blemish concealing charms.

She told me she has a bit of a crush on Lupin. I can see why. He's got lovely milk chocolate brown hair and eyes like the sea. The Caribbean Sea, of course, not the Atlantic.

Ugh, all of a sudden I feel sick I think I'm going to-

A bit later on June 20, 1996 

I've got a bit of the stomach flu, I think. Mrs. Weasley asked me if I wanted any of the chicken stew left over. I said no, though not because I don't like chicken stew, because it's eight days old and Lupin threatened to short-sheet anyone who ate it without asking him if he wanted any. I, for one, do not want to get on his bad side. The twins pulled a prank on him by putting itching powder in his shorts the other day and today they mysteriously had green hair and skin and Lupin came down looking quite smug, like the cat that ate the canary.

Speaking of cats, I've gotten my books for school and McGonagall's offering a course on Animagi. I'm signing up, of course. I think Sirius would've wanted me to. After all, it's easier to have clandestine meetings when you're both in Animagus form. I remember when he transformed for me, and would run around, barking and snuffling things. I threw balls and sticks for him, and he would lick my hand. I remember once he transformed while he was licking my hand and he was kissing my hand like an old friend. Sometimes I wish I might've died with him, jumped after him, to pull him back or go with him. I've dreamed about him.

Here, I'll write it down:

We were sitting in the living room, on our favorite couch. The only couch we actually got to cuddle on one night. He hand taken my hands in his, and was staring into my eyes.

"You know I love you, don't you, Hermione?" he asked.

"Yes, Sirius, of course. And I love you," I replied, trying to lean onto his shoulder and just lie there with him. He jerked away.

"No more thinking about dying, then," he said, eyes intense as a thunderstorm.

"How did you know?" I asked, feeling puzzled.

"I just do, love," he said comfortingly. "Don't. Eat, too and try not to throw up. Be well. And above all: don't do anything rash. Anything at all, do you hear me? I want you to stay alive, no matter what occurs."

"Sirius, that's from 'Last of the Mohicans'," I said smiling and crying a bit.

"I know," he said seriously. "But it's true. Stay alive. That's what matters. I'm not so far away as you think. I'll always be with you, in one way or another, you hear me?"

I nodded, and he kissed me. Then he pulled away and I woke up in my bed, tears streaming down my face, Ginny staring at me worriedly. I told her to go back to bed. She was already worrying about Lupin and she didn't need to worry about me.

I should go and read now, as I feel a bit unwell again. As I remember the dream, I think I'll wait on taking the stomach-calming potion Mrs. Weasley gave me. I'm not entirely sure if I should.

June 27, 1996 

Harry's came back today. Ron and I are quite excited, as this means no more housework. And, of course, Harry's here. But that housework makes me shudder, though I've gotten the easier parts since I've been feeling a bit under the weather.

Harry gave me this huge bear hug and I was enveloped by the scent of his soapthis fruity, spicy scentand I almost threw up my chicken stew (that I had gotten before Lupin found out what was for lunch and grabbed the cauldron, leaving Ron and the twins to have sandwiches; oh, well, "you snooze, you lose," as Fred and George are prone to saying on Dessert Day) all over the back of his robes.

Thankfully Ginny pried him off of me and gave him a short hug before handing him off to Mrs. Weasley, who almost suffocated him, she was squeezing that hard. Harry seems to have almost adopted Lupin, who doesn't look too happy about it, though I don't know, but Ginny isn't happy, either.

She told me, "Honestly, couldn't he go find his own werewolf and leave me to mine?" Ginny's adorable when she talks about Lupin. "Remus," she calls him, and sighs a bit after she says it. It seems almost how I thought about Sirius when we first started talking. The interesting thing is that both of these relationships started with the younger partners talking to the older partners, and forming an adult relationship based on and thoughts.

Hell, Sirius and I didn't even kiss until mid-August. Until then, as Lavender Brown would say, "it was all unresolved sexual tension." Well, the tension stayed there for another few months.

I was in the library today, and Harry came over to "talk".

"Hey, Hermione," he said, a bit bleakly.

"Hi, Harry," I said, smiling at him. "How are you?" I turned the page in A History of the Black Family Tree

"Ginny just told me to bugger off," he said, flicking an imaginary fuzz ball off the arm of the chair.

"What?" I said, marking my page and putting the book down on the side table. "She said that? When?"

"We were in the dining room, eating lunch with Lupin, Fred, George and Ron, and I asked her, once we get to Hogwarts, would she like to go to Hogsmeade with me? And she told me the day she did that, pigs would turn blue and start to perform Shakespeare."

"Ah, so she didn't say 'bugger off'," I replied, starting to pick up my book.

"Oh, no, I asked her again, and then she said, 'If you can't get the meaning of what I just told you, then I'll translate: Bug-_ger_ off.'" He looked a bit miserable.

"Well, Harry," I said reasonably, "she did tell you 'the day I do that, pigs will turn blue and start performing Shakespeare'. I think that's a 'No'. I mean, not to be rude or anything, but you've had your chance, I'm afraid. And now Ginny's moved on."

"Thanks for being so supportive," Harry replied dryly. "I feel so much better, Hermione."

"That's what I'm here for," I said, opening my book again. "Besides, I think she might have a boyfriend, or a potential boyfriend."

"How? She's been here all summer!" Harry exclaimed.

"Maybe he's from school and she's been writing him," I said hastily to cover up my slight error in wording. "I don't know."

He sighed then, and asked me what I was reading. I told him and then he asked me why I was reading that. As I tried not to blush he shrugged and left me alone, which was fine with me. I'm going to start reading again. It's absolutely fascinating.

July 31st, 1996 

It's Harry's birthday and he seems quite happy. I mean, I'm happy on my birthday, but Sirius isn't here. He'll never be here again. I wonder if that means I'll never be happy again.

I went into his room for the first time since he died. It still smells the same. Wonderfully crisp, like an autumn day. His cologne is still in the air, a spicy musky scent that fit him perfectly. I walk over to his bedside table to see three framed photos:

One of the pictures was of him, Remus, Lily and James, with a blank spot where Peter was. One of him and Gillian, after they'd been engaged. I look at her and notice she and I looked a bit alike.

She had bushy brownish hair, like mine, and her smile was almost the same, but otherwise we were as different as the sun and the moon. I don't mind, really, if what first attracted Sirius to me was the fact I look a bit like his long-dead fiancée. He got to know me and love me as myself. The last photo is of me, him, Harry and Ron. I remember that day. It was shortly after Harry arrived, and we were sitting in the living room, laughing about somethinga joke Fred had just told, I thinkand Ginny came in and snapped the photo. When she took it, I had been sitting next to Sirius and my head was on his shoulder as I gasped for breath. I took the photo, which might've been wrong, but I don't care. It's sitting on my bedside table, where I stare at Sirius's happy, smiling face for hours, it seems.

Mrs. Weasley says we can't celebrate his birthday today, and 'celebrate' meaning 'go somewhere', since the Death Eaters know his birthday and would be looking for him. Instead, she says, we will go on August 8th.

Lupin looked particularly glum when she said that, though I'm not sure why. I will ask Ginny.

A little bit later on July 31st

Ginny says that August 8 is Lupin's birthday and that he gets depressed around it every year. I asked her how she knew that, and she said he had told her.

I'm beginning to think she might be a little obsessed with him. I mentioned this to her, and she said that she wasn't as obsessed with Remus as I am with Sirius. She has a point. I'll let her be obsessed. After all, it's not like she's a stalker or anything. Mrs. Weasley would notice, then, I think.

Ack, I don't feel well. I'm going to heave in a minute.

August 9, 1996 

Ginny was not here last night. I heard Mrs. Weasley going up the stairs to Lupin's room and heard a strangled scream. I do hope that she didn't faint or kill Ginny or Lupin. It doesn't really seem fair that Ginny gets a boyfriend and mine gets sucked through the veil prematurely. I mean, he wasn't even thirty-six! Tomorrow's his birthday, actually. Maybe I'll get to spend the night in his room then, if I'm quiet.

Ginny has just been thrust into the room and Mrs. Weasley is going on and n about pregnancy charms. I've just asked her what one of them is, and she says infinite revel" which I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not, me knowing one, I mean. I like children, yes, but how would they affect my life? Our life?

I'm sure Mrs. Weasley would be over the moon (slightly) if I was pregnant with Ron's baby, but anyone else's... I'm not even sure. I think I'll wait until tomorrow, just so it's fitting. He would've wanted it that way, anyway. I just asked Ginny what happened. She says that yesterday he got drunk (since yesterday was his birthday) and she helped him upstairs and then kissed him. And it went from there, she says. I asked her, "Did you do it?" (Why am I being so childish, and not saying the actual word? Sex, sex, sex!) And she says, No. She didn't want to take advantage of him. I think that's hilarious. She didn't want to take advantage of him.

I'm going to go now and get some pickles. Mmm, pickles...

Much later on August 9, 1996 

Oh, God, why did I say that? So I went downstairs and I'm in the kitchen, hunting for pickles and Ron, Harry, Ginny, Lupin (who was being watched very closely by Mrs. Weasley), and Tonks were in there and Ron comes over and says, "Hermione, can I ask you something personal?"

So I'm rooting in the icebox, and I find pickles, and I'm thinking 'Yes! Pickles!' and I say,

"Sure, Ron, go ahead."

And he asks, of all things, "Are you a virgin?"

I pause, pickle halfway to my mouth and say, "Why would you ask me that?"

He turns slightly red. "I just, er, was wondering. Well, are you?"

"Do you want to know Ron?" I ask. "That's rather personal."

"Oh, c'mon, Hermione, you can tell me," he coaxes.

"Fine," I said shortly, biting off a hunk of pickle. "I'm not. Happy?"

I hear a crash and see Mrs. Weasley on the ground, fainted dead away, and Ginny's giggling, Lupin looks a bit nauseous, and Tonks remarks, "I didn't need to know that." Harry's waves smelling salts underneath Mrs. Weasley's nose and she wakes up and stares at me like I've got five eyes and feelers coming out of my nose.

Fred, George and Bill walk in then. "What's the matter?" Bill asks.

Tonks, being tactless says, "Hermione's not a virgin." Bill turns purple, like Ron, and Fred and George come over to ask me whom I did the dirty deed with. I told them to bugger off and came upstairs with the pickles.

I'm now counting the minutes to midnight. It's ten forty-five right now.

August 10, 1996

I fell asleep last night around eleven twenty-eight. Though I woke up for a moment when Ginny snuck out to do what ever she does with Lupin.

Day old pickles are quite nice, actually. I'm munching on one- Oops! A bit of pickle juice got on the page.

Anyway, today would've been Sirius's thirty-sixth birthday. I remember what I got him last year: a hickey and a few bites. I remember Lupin asking him about it and Sirius told him to mind his own neckline, please.

I'm taking deep breaths and thanking God that Grimmauld Place is somewhere I can perform magic while not in school, though I'll only do it this once. I was reading about the spell in a book in the library yesterday, and it takes five minutes to find out, and it glows

pink if you are, and blue if you aren't.

Okay, I just cast it. Oh, I'm crouched on the toilet in Ginny's and my bathroom, hoping to Heaven no one knocks.

If I am, what should I name it? How would I take care of it? I suppose once it was proved to be Sirius's it would inherit everything. You know, last of the family, genetically proven to be a match to Sirius's DNA. Right now I'm thinking of what kind of a Mum I'm going to be.

Will I be the 'Cool' Mum? Or the 'smart' Mum? I don't know.

Oh, it's glowing! It's pink. Oh, my God.

I'm pregnant.

£££££

**A/N:** Thanks for reading, I'll try to update sometime soon! Please, please review!


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